Forbidden Desires: A Steamy Billionaire Romance – Natasha’s Forbidden Initiation & Reckoning

Forbidden Desires

Chapter One: Natasha’s Initiation

The room was dimly lit, the air thick with anticipation. Natasha’s fingers trembled as they hovered over my cock, her breath shallow. The tip, swollen and glistening, resembled a taut tennis ball, and her hesitation was palpable. I cupped her chin, tilting her face up to mine.

“Touch it,” I murmured, guiding her hand.

Her fingers finally made contact, a featherlight brush at first, then firmer as curiosity overcame her shyness. She traced the throbbing veins, her nails scraping delicately along the length before wrapping her palm around me. A soft gasp escaped her lips as she felt the heat, the sheer size of me.

“It’s… bigger than I imagined,” she admitted, her voice a whisper.

I smirked. “Then imagine what it’ll feel like inside you.”

Her cheeks flushed, but her strokes grew bolder, her grip alternating between gentle squeezes and slow pumps. Watching her—this innocent yet eager girl—explore my body was intoxicating. My wife had never taken me like this, had never wanted to. But Natasha… she was different.

When her breathing hitched and her pupils dilated, I knew she was ready. I tangled my fingers in her hair and guided her mouth to me.

“Suck it,” I commanded.

She obeyed without protest, parting her lips and taking the swollen head between them. The first wet slide of her tongue nearly undid me. Her technique was unpracticed but enthusiastic, her mouth hot and tight as she worked the first two inches.

“Deeper,” I growled.

She gagged slightly but adjusted, bobbing her head in a rhythm that sent pleasure coursing through me. Her cheeks hollowed, her lips stretched obscenely around my girth. Every flick of her tongue, every muffled moan, was a revelation.

I couldn’t resist any longer. With a groan, I pulled her up and pushed her onto the bed. She landed with a soft bounce, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Strip,” I ordered.

Her fingers fumbled with her clothes, peeling off her T-shirt, then her shorts. When only her bra and panties remained, I stepped closer, crowding her.

“All of it.”

She unhooked her bra, letting it fall away to reveal pert, youthful breasts—small but perfect, with dusky pink nipples already pebbled from arousal. Her panties followed, sliding down her thighs to pool at her ankles.

Natasha was breathtaking. Her skin was porcelain-smooth, her body a delicate contrast of curves and angles. She shivered under my gaze but didn’t cover herself.

I joined her on the bed, my mouth descending to her chest. The moment my lips closed around a nipple, she arched off the mattress with a cry.

“Oh God—!” Her hands clutched at my head, holding me closer as I sucked and teased. Her moans grew louder, her hips rocking restlessly.

I trailed lower, kissing down her stomach, then spreading her thighs. Her pussy was glistening, her folds already slick with need. I buried my face between her legs, licking a slow, torturous path from her entrance to her clit.

She tasted sweet, addictive. Her back bowed as my tongue delved deeper, lapping at her juices.

“Please… more,” she begged, grinding against my mouth.

I obliged, flicking her clit faster until her thighs trembled. Just as she teetered on the edge, I pulled away, flipping her onto all fours.

“Ride me,” I said, lying back.

She straddled me in a 69, her wetness dripping onto my chest as she took my cock back into her mouth. The dual sensations were overwhelming—her hot, eager mouth and the press of her pussy against my lips.

I feasted on her, driving my tongue inside her tight channel while she moaned around my length. Her hips rolled, her juices coating my chin.

When neither of us could take anymore, I flipped her onto her back, positioning myself between her thighs. Her eyes widened as I slicked myself with oil, then rubbed the head of my cock against her entrance.

“Relax,” I soothed, though my own control was fraying.

She bit her lip, nodding. “Just… go slow.”

I pushed in gradually, watching her face for discomfort. Her nails dug into my shoulders as I stretched her, inch by inch.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” I gritted out.

She whimpered, her walls fluttering around me. “It’s so much…”

I stilled, letting her adjust, then began a slow, deep rhythm. Her moans turned to cries of pleasure as her body accepted me fully.

For the first time in years, I was complete.

Chapter Two: The Reckoning

Three Years Later

The café was bustling, the scent of espresso and cinnamon thick in the air. Natasha adjusted her sunglasses, though the dim interior hardly required them. She had chosen this place for its anonymity—neutral ground, far from prying eyes.

Her fingers drummed against the marble tabletop. She was early.

A shadow fell across her.

"You kept the habit."

His voice sent a shiver down her spine—deep, familiar, laced with amusement. She looked up.

Time had only sharpened his features, the faintest silver threading through his dark hair. His suit was immaculate, tailored to fit the broad shoulders she still remembered beneath her fingertips.

Natasha swallowed. "What habit?"

He slid into the seat opposite her, his gaze lingering on her restless fingers before flicking back to her face. "Tapping when you're nervous."

She forced her hand still. "I'm not nervous."

A smirk. "Liar."

The waiter appeared, and he ordered for both of them—black coffee for himself, a vanilla latte for her. He remembered.

Natasha exhaled slowly. "You look good."

"So do you." His eyes darkened. "Better, even."

She had known this would happen—the way her body would react to him, even after all this time. The way her pulse jumped when his knuckles brushed hers as he reached for the sugar.

"Why did you call me here?" she asked.

He leaned back, assessing her. "You know why."

She did. The late-night texts. The emails sent from encrypted accounts. The way he had somehow known when she moved cities, changed jobs, ended things with the man she'd tried to convince herself could replace him.

"I have a life now," she said, but it sounded hollow.

"Do you?" He tilted his head. "Or are you still mine?"

The words hung between them, charged.

Natasha's breath hitched.

He reached across the table, his thumb tracing the inside of her wrist where her pulse fluttered wildly. "Tell me you don't dream about it. About me."

She couldn't.

His smile was predatory. "That's what I thought."

The waiter returned with their drinks. He didn’t let go of her wrist.

"Meet me tonight," he murmured. "Same place as before."

Natasha knew she should refuse. Knew she should walk away and never look back.

Instead, she whispered, "What time?"

His grip tightened. "Midnight."

And just like that, the game began again.